


Gulmalûm

by Telltalelily



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, POV Bilbo Baggins, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telltalelily/pseuds/Telltalelily
Summary: Bilbo had travelled with the Company, sure. He had seen them sleep, bathe, joke and braid numerous times on the journey. But before he started living with them in Erebor, he hadn't suspected the full scope of just what it takes for a dwarf to fix their hair in the morning.





	Gulmalûm

Before he started living with them, Bilbo hadn’t truly considered how much time and patience went into the complicated hairstyles his dwarven companions generally preferred. These days the kingdom of Erebor had come back to life again and still filling up with returning dwarves from all over the continent. The mountain rang with shouts and laughter at all hours, and the corridors were filled with the homely smells of cooking rather than decay and dragon. And there were so many delectable dishes to be sampled, brought from far flung places by dwarves who had wandered all over the continent to sell their goods. The sole hobbit of Erebor was never turned away from the table, either. Feeding visitors was only polite according to the rules of dwarven hospitality, so Bilbo often found himself being invited to partake in meals throughout the day as he went about his business. A platter of dates with walnuts here, a rack of herb encrusted lamb there, thick soups seasoned with exotic spices, pickled fish, dumplings, spicy meat wrapped in cabbage leaves (aye, it’s a shame there aren’t any wine leaves to be had right now, laddie, but we make due), soft slices of candied fruit, and more besides, were all things Bilbo got to sample as he performed his duties around the Mountain. He had quickly regained his old roundness living with these food loving dwarves, and perhaps a little extra as well.

Yes, Bilbo was more than happy living in Erebor, and that wasn’t even counting the everyday sort of joy of being married to its king. The thought that he got to return to their apartments and Thorin at the end of the day still sometimes made giddy bubbles of happiness float through his veins. They ate together, ruled together, slept together and bathed together – and it was this last activity that had afforded him his new insights into the meticulous grooming habits of his new people.

This morning he sat on the huge bed in their room, already fully dried and dressed while Thorin braided his hair. Bilbo should have left already, really. He had an early meeting with some traders that were petitioning the crown for support of trading mission to the south. Instead he was dithering, pretending to brush the thick hair on his feet while watching Thorin tend to his hair.

Thorin sat surrounded on three sides by the mirrors of his vanity. He was clad only in his shirt and underthing, bare toes buried in the soft rug beneath him, and his armor gleamed on the stand that was visible through the open closet door. Though Bilbo found, as he did with many things concerning the dwarves, that the word ‘closet’ did not describe the room any better than ‘field’ did the vast plains of Rohan (they had gone there once to sign a trade agreement and Bilbo had sworn to never go back. He had sneezed constantly from being surrounded by quite frankly unnecessary amounts of horse hair and spent most of his time glaring at anyone who mentioned ‘the holbytla’ in his hearing).

But any such inconveniences were worth it to have the opportunity to see Thorin with his hair unbound and ready for his thick fingers to run through.  
Thorin reached for a tub of hair wax among the clutter on the stone top. He unscrewed the lid and coated his fingers in the fragrant substance before spreading it carefully though his greying hair. The wax the dwarves used kept their braids intact longer, something that Bilbo hadn’t discovered while they were on the road. Back then they had apparently used causal travel braids, though Bilbo hadn’t realized at the time that the elaborate hairstyles Dori and Nori, in particular, sported were dressed down versions of their regular styles. Dwalin had claimed it was just not practical to maintain their usual styles on the road, that the first time Bilbo saw him wearing what looked like half the treasury in his beard braids. Thorin had just laughed and clapped Dwalin on the back, saying it was good to see him looking more like himself again. Here in the Mountain, all his friends decorated themselves much more intricately, using more complex arrangements and many more hair ornaments. The wax let them keep their hair neat and spared them from having to re-style it all over again every morning. Thorin himself often only washed his hair every four days or so, since he also coiffured himself in much more elaborate ways these days. Gone were the days of mostly loose hair decorated with a few steel and silver beads. Now, his vanity was littered with boxes of hair beads and pins, clasps and combs. He even had a collection of feathers, chains, tusks, and hair nets made out of delicate metal wire that he sometimes clipped into his hair and long beard.

These attempts to keep their hair neat without spending hours every morning tending it were also evident at other times of the day. The first time Thorin had come to bed with his hair carefully wrapped in a hair net so the braids wouldn’t fray during the night, Bilbo had laughed himself sick at the sight. The way Thorin had frowned disapprovingly at him had only triggered fresh bouts of laughter, and whenever he started to calm down one look was all it took to set him off again. Luckily it had only taken a week or two of concentrated effort to keep his laughter in check before he grew used to seeing his fierce love wearing hair nets in the style of every grandmother in the Shire.  
Then the process had repeated all over again once Thorin’s beard grew long enough to warrant a hair net of its own.

Thorin carefully ran a comb through his wavy hair to check for any knots before he gathered up the first piece of hair. He started just in front of his left ear and began to weave the two braids that Bilbo was the most familiar with. He had worn them throughout their quest, though with significantly fewer beads. The jade box filled with polished garnets was open on the marble top and Thorin paused every so often to slip a strand of hair through the hole drilled through the gems as he braided. It seemed unnecessarily extravagant to Bilbo to use whole gems as beads, but Thorin kept several boxes filled with different types on his vanity, along with plainer gold and platinum ones (and what did it say about Bilbo, that wearing gold in one’s hair now seemed understated to him?) And Bilbo had to admit that the effect was lovely, especially when Thorin wore the yellow diamonds that glittered like stars against the inky black of his hair.

Side braids finished and tied off with intricately etched golden clasps, Thorin parted the hair on the top of his head into three, thick sections. He clipped the other pieces to the side and started on the first of the three French braids that would run along the top of his skull. Bilbo watched mesmerized as Thorin’s fingers deftly plaited his hair, seemingly picking up equally thin sections on instinct. He left these braids undecorated but for the thick, gemstudded platinum clasp that held them together at the back of his head, and the ivory pendants he hung off the trailing ends. The little eagle, bear and pony stood out starkly against the loose hair beneath, and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them. Thorin might appear cold and controlled to the casual observer, but to Bilbo these ornaments were a testament to his husband’s sentimental side. The three animals had been carved in the likeness of three animals that had made the largest difference on their quest: the bear looked just like Beorn in his animal form, the eagle was a many times smaller representation of the one that had swooped down on the cliffside and crushed the Pale Orc in it’s claws, and anyone who had ever seen Myrtle would recognize her likeness in the pony pendant instantly.

Thorin caught Bilbo’s gaze in the mirror and smiled as Bilbo hurriedly busied himself again with brushing his feet. He carefully ran the brush over every inch of the toes on his right foot, fussily arranging the thick pelt into some semblance of order. He was quickly distracted by a clatter from Thorin’s direction, however, and looked up in time to see Thorin opening and closing boxes while muttering to himself.  
“Dearest? Do you know where my beads went? I was sure I had them here…” Thorin called absentmindedly as he rooted around behind a bowl overflowing with strings of pearls.  
Bilbo cleared his throat. “You’ll need to be more specific. You do rather have quite a few beads.”  
Thorin turned around in his seat just far enough to shoot Bilbo a glance that was in equal parts fond and exasperated.  
“The sapphires, of course. I’m wearing the garnets, if you would notice.”  
“Oh yes, silly me. One simply cannot pair garnets with anything but sapphires,” Bilbo returned drily. He only got another amused grin in response before Thorin turned back to rummaging among his boxes.  
“It’s good luck to wear them together,” Thorin rumbled into the glass case he was peering into to.  
Bilbo hopped off the bed and started for the bathroom. “Yes, yes, so you say. I’ll see if you left them in here last time you wore them. You really should put your priceless knickknacks away properly, Thorin,” he chided to distract himself from the rather lovely sight of Thorin grinning unrepentantly at his retreating back.

He had only step through the door before he saw the bowl they usually kept by the mirror glittering like blue fire in the warm light spilling in from the bedroom. The missing sapphire beads really were quite lovely, and they brought out Thorin’s eyes quite fetchingly when he wore them in his beard.  
Bilbo scooped up the bowl and retreated to Thorin’s side. His skin prickled as his nose filled with the scent of the bergamot hair wax that had become inexorably linked with Thorin in his mind.  
“Hrm…” Bilbo awkwardly cleared his throat as he held out the bowl, “they were in the bathroom all along, as I expected.”  
Thorin’s rumbling laugh washed over him and set his heart pumping. “I can see that, _kafhfantsadzê_. Thank you. Now hurry and get ready.”  
“Please don’t call me that,” Bilbo groused halfheartedly as he tried to ignore his inner sickly-sweet observation that Thorin’s eyes were much lovelier than any sapphire.  
Though, he allowed himself to trail his hand across Thorin’s broad shoulder as he turned and went back to his foot brush. There had been many a morning when approaching Thorin as he put his hair in order had resulted in the two of them being outrageously late to start their day. Perhaps Bilbo could apologize and reschedule his appointment, but Thorin? Bilbo blinked. What was Thorin doing today? Perhaps…  
“Dear? Are you leaving the rest of your hair loose?” Bilbo asked from his previous perch as he watched Thorin finish combing out his beard.  
Thorin hmm’ed as he separated a lock about the thickness of his finger right below his lip and began to carefully weave a four-strand braid – liberally studded with sapphires, of course. “I am meeting with my generals this morning, and then my next important meeting is a few days hence, so I decided on a modest style for my hair today.” Thorin visibly paused and threw a suspicious look over his shoulder. “Why? Do you think it’s too plain?”  
Dwarves, Bilbo sighed exasperatedly. Thorin was wearing jewelry worth more than all of Bagshot Row put together, and yet he thought it might not be extravagant enough!  
“Not at all. You look very nice,” Bilbo replied as he once more applied himself to his brushing. Thorin was currently snapping thick, rectangle-shaped ornaments on to the first of a pair of six-strand braids he liked to wear on each side of his chin. They were made of white gold, inlaid with life-like renditions of the Raven of Erebor and the Seven Stars of Durin, made of tiny slices of onyx and benitoite. Bilbo had always admired how they shimmered in the light. The braids and ornaments drew attention of the fluffy cloud of facial hair that obscured most of Thorin’s chest nowadays.

Thorin snorted. “Nice.” As if he couldn’t believe his own husband would betray him so grievously as to say he merely looked ‘nice’!  
“We’re not getting back to this argument again, Thorin. Handsome. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Take your pick,” Bilbo snarked back.  
“Peace, Bilbo. I consider ‘gorgeous’ to be perfectly acceptable.” Bilbo broke out into a fit of laughter as Thorin turned in his chair and batted his eyelashes at him.  
“No mustache braids today?” Bilbo snickered as Thorin got up to finish dressing.  
A booming laugh sounded from the closet. “No, I think I shall leave those to Fíli. I am at least a hundred years too old for that kind of thing.”  
“At least!” Bilbo called.  
The response from the closet was slightly muffled. “You are supposed to be on my side, _kafhfantsadzê_!”  
“I wish you would stop calling me that!”  
“Why? I think it’s very apt. You are both bitter–”  
_“I am not bitter!”_  
”–and you are both delicious,” Thorin continued as he emerged again from the depths of their cavernous closet, adjusting the fall of his coat over his armor (and Bilbo carefully didn’t think of all the reasons why Thorin had had to learn how to dress exceptionally fast). “Especially dipped in chocolate.”  
“And you are terrible at flirting,” Bilbo deadpanned. He secretly rather enjoyed Thorin’s attempts at it, though. And he really had gotten so much better at. Some of Thorin’s early flirtations had left Bilbo confused, insulted, worried about Thorin or all three at once. Being compared to a coffee bean wasn’t anywhere near as horrifying as that time with the fish barrels at Lake-Town. Bilbo shuddered at the memory. And he was fairly sure Thorin knew he enjoyed the current, much less offensive but still rather dismal attempts, with the way he grinned widely at Bilbo, eyes twinkling with amusement.  
“Are you ready to go?” Thorin asked as he walked up to Bilbo’s side.  
Deciding that his feet were as well brushed as they were ever going to be (and had been for quite a while, admittedly) Bilbo put the brush to the side and hopped off the bed. “I just need to get my coat and pocket watch.”  
“I always end up waiting for you,” Thorin teased.  
“Yes, I suppose you do,” Bilbo smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul, courtesy of the divine Dwarrow Scholar:
> 
> Gulmalûm – tiny sparkle
> 
> kafhfantsadzê – my coffee bean
> 
> I just can't write Bilbo, so this was a bit of an exercise for me to try to get a better grip on the character. I hope you enjoyed reading!


End file.
